Page 51 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

Silence follows my words for a moment and then a small chuckle rises into the air. The man steps up to my side. “You did not strike me as a Machiavellian,” he says.

My eyes widen and then soften in amusement. Before us, Andrew’s hands have dug themselves into the grass as he attempts to get to his knees. No doubt, ready to try and escape.

“He had a lot of good ideas,” I reply absently. “Not the least of which is that society is divided into two different forms of morality. As a whole, they would see me killing this man as an act of terrible violence. If he’s a danger to society, however, a danger to the vulnerable and weak, then … they fight themselves on what is right and what is wrong.”

I crane my head back and sigh. “I don’t fight it anymore,” I say. “It’s all made up anyway. What’s right is whatever you make right.”

With that, I look down and lift my foot, slamming the sole of my shoe into Andrew’s ass and knocking him onto his face. “I suggest you start running, Andrew,” I say. “Or you’ll never make it to the highway by morning.”

He pulls his face out of the dirt and turns to face me. “Y-you’re letting me go?” he stutters.

I arch a brow. “I’m giving you what you never gave me,” I reply. “A chance. If you can make it to the highway before daybreak then I’ll let you go.”

One of the men standing by withdraws a gun and aims it. “You might want to hurry, though, my man,” he says. “This land is pretty nice, makes a man want to go hunting.”

Andrew yelps as he pulls the trigger and a bullet slams into the dirt near his leg. His legs scramble against the ground as he gets to his feet and starts running. I watch him, naked and bruised with the marks the ropes have left crisscrossing over his back as he hurries away. Covered in animal blood, I know what will happen.

My chance is nothing more than a lie. An illusion—like they all tried to give me once upon a time.

I won’t hurt you, MiKayla…

Such beautiful skin…

Love marks. That’s all they are, princess. Pretty little love marks on your skin…

You can take more, can’t you…

You don’t want to disappoint me, do you? You know what happens if I’m not satisfied. Can you handle that…

“How long do you want us to let him run?” the gunman asks as I turn away from Andrew’s form disappearing into the forest.

“Give him an hour or so,” I say. “If the wolves don’t get to him by then, go after him.”

The trio nods and the four of us wait in silence, listening to the calls of the wildlife beyond the treeline. I distantly wonder how far Andrew’s gotten, but considering his wounds and his lack of exercise or experience in the wild, I doubt it’s far. Once the hour is up, the driver and gunman head back to the house and grab the ATVs they stored there earlier.

The third man and I remain behind, waiting for news. “What time is it?” I ask after several minutes of silence.

“Getting close to two a.m.,” he replies, pulling out a fresh pack of cigs and slapping it against his palm before ripping off the plastic. He wisely stuffs the trash back into his pocket before withdrawing a lighter and holding the pack towards me. “Want one?”

I think about it, but the edginess in my chest has me reaching for it before I’ve even decided. “Thanks,” I offer as I let him light it for me.

Nicotine drags into my lungs and I relax against the siding at the back of the house, breathing it out into a puff of smoke that lingers in front of my face for a brief second before drifting away with the invisible wind.

Time passes slowly, etching away and turning minutes into hours. “My boy’s right, you know,” he says after a bit.

I turn, arching a brow his way as I ash my cigarette over the ground. “‘Bout what?”

“Girl like you probably shouldn’t be doing stuff like this.”

I snort. That’s not at all whathis boysaid. “Maybe you should think about yourself, first,” I reply. “If you’ve got time to be worrying about me doing this kind of thing—killing, maiming—then you’re in the wrong profession.”

“Not everyone gets choices,” he says quietly. “Maybe I just want you to get one.”

I turn, dropping the remainder of my cigarette into the grass and grinding it against my shoe. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Dunno,” he admits. “You seem nice. You got a sweet face. And despite what I seen down there.” He pauses and gestures back towards the back door of the house, making me think he’s talking about what he witnessed me do to Andrew in the basement. “You don’t have the look of someone who likes killing. I seen that, too, a lot in this line of work. You ain’t got it.”

“I do what I have to do,” is my only response to his last words. “But perhaps, if you don’t like what you do—you should look into a career change.”

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